Blood Root

when all is fog                           

         pale and gray

     numb from lack of texture                             

          because there is none

     exhausted by seeking the path

          because there is none

     the only food you find

          is despair (and one must eat)

     and hope

          just a word

     when questions

          are the only answers

     one step or a thousand

          leads to nowhere

     when you are the only thing

          available to love

               but don’t know how

the way becomes a place

           beneath you

     where death itself          

               dies into life

     if you be still and look

               you will see

     the sanguine flower

          in the forest of unknowing

     building itself 

          from the juice of decay

     the palmate leaf unfurling

          a snow white monocle  

     containing threads of gold    

          shining with the luminosity 

     of a thousand suns

          only for a moment

               which is all you need